


The Best (Last) Days of Our Lives

by Atalto



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Aziraphale!Shiro, Crowley!Lance, Cuddling & Snuggling, Don’t copy to another site, Fluff, Good Omens AU, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Py's wonderful art, Just Major Spoilers overall, M/M, Major spoilers for Episode 6, Mentions of the British Supermarket Hierarchy, Romance, Wings, slight body horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 16:40:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19398178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atalto/pseuds/Atalto
Summary: "So," Lance speaks up next to him, and the sudden conversation takes Shiro by surprise, "what do we do now?""I guess we just- just go home," Shiro replies simply, not letting himself turn and face Lance, "our respective people will find us soon, there's no point hiding."Lance grunts next to him, and slouches into his seat even more than what Shiro thought was possible."Of course," Lance hisses, and Shiro can see the slits of his pupils narrow behind his sunglasses, "how much longer do you think we've got left?"(Lance and Shiro have stopped the Apocalypse, prevented a war between Heaven and Hell, and have successfully protected the human race and all it has created.Now, they face Eternity.)





	The Best (Last) Days of Our Lives

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry, I couldn't help myself.
> 
> Here's my attempt at a Shance Good Omens AU, inspired by both Py's wonderful art (Link at the end) and Green generally listening to my major rambles about how much I LOVED this show - so thank u folk!!!!!
> 
> I hope this somewhat does the show justice,
> 
> Enjoy!

So, it turns out the apocalypse never truly happened.

It's a hard thing for Shiro to wrap his head around as the bus trundles back to London across the M25, which he should add is no longer on fire. Everything feels quiet, normal even; around him are humans just getting on with their lives, as if nothing had ever happened. A girl blasts music through some poorly insulated headphones, allowing the whole bus to listen her bubblegum pop. Across from him, a businessman is talking angrily down the phone, obviously trying to be as quiet as he can whilst chewing out his PA. Footsteps echo from across the top deck; a child must be running around, carefree and happy for another ten minutes until they hit London.

Next to him, Lance shifts, fully propping his head onto the soft material of Shiro's jacket.

Ah, Lance. Arch demon, spawn of Satan, the product of Hell incarnate.

 _His best friend_.

Maybe they're something more than that now, Shiro allows himself to think, to _hope_. He wants to reach over, take one of Lance's slender hands within his own and hold it, watch how his fingers slot between his own perfectly, almost as if some awful, awful design flaw had made them for each other. It happened once, in 1941, Lance had grabbed his hand and ran as a church burned around them.

Shiro has never stopped thinking about that.

"So," Lance speaks up next to him, and the sudden conversation takes Shiro by surprise, "what do we do now?"

"I guess we just- just go home," Shiro replies simply, not letting himself turn and face Lance, "our respective people will find us soon, there's no point hiding."

Lance grunts next to him, and slouches into his seat even more than what Shiro thought was possible.

"Of course," Lance hisses, and Shiro can see the slits of his pupils narrow behind his sunglasses, "how much longer do you think we've got left?"

"A week, maximum?" Shiro muses, and the urge to reach out to hold Lance's fidgeting hand surges again, "but my lot work faster than yours, you know how efficient Allura likes to be."

Ah yes, Allura. Shiro's closest friend and ally upstairs; a kind soul, accepting, if a little disapproving about Shiro's relationship with a demon, but definitely a stickler for the rules.

Oh how little he wants to see her face when he's inevitably consumed by Hellfire. After all she's done covering his ass from Lotor, it's not exactly how he wants to repay her.

"Alright," Lance says with a sigh, slowly pulling himself up as the bus draws to another halt in the usual London traffic, "so let's say five days - what can we do in five days?"

"There's beaches," Shiro starts, and he's not lying; Lance frequently talks about the beaches he saw in the west around the Central Americas and the Caribbean, and it would be a nice change from the pebble shores and cold waters of Britain, "or mountains - you always spoke of the Himalayas, to see the destruction you caused suggesting to hikers that it would be a _good_ idea to scale Everest."

Lance laughs at that, finally, and Shiro watches as one ringed hand relaxes around the support rail of the bus.

"Alpha Centuri is nice this time of year."

Shiro nods slowly; the more Lance brings this up, the more of an enticing idea it sounds. Lance, after all, is so very proud of that star, how bright and big it shines in the sky. Secretly, under all that demonic exterior, Shiro thinks, he's somewhat proud of how the humans seem to revere it.

"How will we get there?"

"Miracles," Lance replies, as if it is the most obvious thing in the world, "they're onto us now anyway, fuck it, am I right?"

Well, Shiro can't argue with that.

However, he can't ignore the writhing in his gut that comes with the idea of running. Shiro has never been a 'flight' kind of person, and, as much as he knows Lance would rather outwit his problems rather than facing them head on, some problems can't just be miracled away. Like when you accidentally piss off a gang boss, or destroy a library book, or commit high treason against the most powerful force in all of Her creation.

"Let's not make any rash decisions," Shiro decides, slightly impressed by how level he's managing to keep his voice, "how about you come back to my flat; I've got a bottle of aged Porte that I've been keeping, maybe we could think it over-"

"Shiro," Lance suddenly interrupts, and Shiro finally looks over to see the pain etched into the demon's face, "your bookshop burnt down - it's gone, all of it."

"Ah," Shiro says simply, "of course."

They stay silent for the rest of the journey, stop-starting as the bus slowly chugs it's way through the traffic jam that is London.

Finally, after what seems like an age, the bus, for one mysterious reason or another, decides to stop just outside the sleek block of flats that Lance calls home. Lance takes Shiro's wrist at that, and the sudden touch of fingertips to his skin sends shockwaves through his body.

And no, that isn't just because Lance was a demon.

"C'mon," Lance urges, and Shiro can do little but follow, "stay with me tonight."

"But Lance-"

"Nope," he argues, popping the 'p' in a moment of previous Lance lightheartedness that makes Shiro bubble inside, "you're staying here tonight, don't you wanna' see how Geoffrey's coming along?"

Geoffrey is a succulent that Lance had asked Shiro to name in a fit of boredom a couple of weeks prior. Shiro has yet to discover the reason behind his obsession with plants.

"Fine," Shiro admits with a sigh, stepping into the building as the bus pulls away from the roadside, "but only one night, I need to get back to the shop."

Lance shrugs. "Have it your way, but there's not much left for you to see."

Shiro doesn't notice that the moment he steps over the threshold, the skies open above him. He doesn't hear the rain against the windows, nor the thunder that somehow roars louder than the growl of London night life. Instead, he's invested in the man in front of him, how his hand has slipped down his wrist to loosely keep Shiro's thumb in his grip.

* * *

It turns out Lance's flat has a fantastic tea selection.

Shiro's sat in a plush, leather armchair, with a large mug decorated with some sports clothing brand. It smells like a breakfast tea, but with a touch of vanilla, and _god_ Shiro wishes he had discovered this before the last days of his life.

"This is much sweeter than I ever expected of you," Shiro says with a smirk, earning a quirked eyebrow from Lance across the room, "got any more secret sweet-teeth you're hiding from me?"

Lance rolls his eyes, now visible thanks to his sunglasses being discarded on his mirrored desk, but his smile is unavoidable. "What can I say, I saw it and thought of you," he explains with a wink, "I know it's not your fancy fuckin' _Cuvee Heritiers_ but it'll do."  
He takes a large swig of his equally oversized mug of what smells like black coffee, before leaning back into his swivel chair.

"So, what do you do when you know you're about to die?" Lance hums quietly, and the plants around him seem to droop, "any more brilliant ideas, angel?"

Shiro shrugs, taking another sip of his tea.

"Fantastic."

Geoffrey is sat on the corner of Lance's desk, and, despite it all, is looking better than ever. It's greener than when Shiro saw it last, and there's a hint of a bud poking out from its waxy leaves.

"This is rather odd," Shiro remarks, earning an interested hum from Lance, "how I was the one suggesting we finally uncork the wine, whilst you decide we should have _tea_ \- I thought you were the one supposed to be doing the tempting, not me."

"We're our own people now, Shiro," Lance reminds him with an amused click of his tongue, "and anyway, bold of you to assume I _wasn't_ up for getting ridiculously drunk-"

With that, Lance grins wildly, before reaching under the desk to pull out two shot glasses, somehow already filled with a clear liquid.

"You crafty-" Shiro started, but the curse dies on his lips as Lance stands up to pass him the glass.

"Down in one?" Lance suggests, and Shiro stands to clink their glasses and link their arms together.

"Till Death do us part," Shiro hums.

"Something like that," Lance agrees, and then they knock it back.

And _bloody hell._

"What the hell was that?" Shiro calls, nearly dropping the glass as he hisses at the immense burning in his throat, "pure ethanol?"

"Vodka, and the cheapest I could think of at that!" Lance practically cheers, almost prideful, "I think that might just be Tesco own brand, not sure - another?"

Well, why not? They're both gonna' be dead within a week anyway.

Shiro watches as his shot glass refills itself, and downs it once again.

* * *

"We could switch bodies," Shiro suddenly says, eyes snapping open with vigour, "in Honerva's prophecies, she says to 'choose our faces' - what if we chose each other's faces?"

On the bedside table opposite him, Lance's digital clock flashes twenty-three past four in the morning. Shiro's coat and vest lie discarded on a chair at the side of the room, and his hips are beginning to ache where his belt is jutting into his skin.

"Shiro," Lance slurs, barely audible from where his face is smushed into Shiro's no longer buttoned up button-up, "what the fuck are you goin' on about?"

"Honerva's final prophecy," Shiro repeats, and to him, it really is the simplest thing ever, "'choose your faces wisely, for soon enough you will be playing with fire' - it's obvious."

Lance grunts, and Shiro looks down to see one yellow eye has been flicked open. "So, like, we create a visage of each other? So I look like you and you look like me?"

"You got it," Shiro confirms, and his smirk is only matched by the one also on Lance's face, "so when our respective people come, you return to heaven as me to survive Hellfire, and I'll face your holy water execution in Hell - neither of us will get hurt, and hopefully, that'll intimidate them so much they'll let us go-"

He's cut off by Lance shuffling up the bed, squirming in his arms until they're face to face on greyed pillows.

"That, Angel," Lance starts, both eyes now wide awake, "is fantastic."

Shiro wants to fight the blush that he knows is forming on his face; this human body is good for somethings, but for others, it's one hell of a giveaway. "What can I say, I have my moments-"

"Shut _up_ , you're brilliant," Lance replies with a roll of his eyes, giving Shiro a squeeze where the demon's arms are coiled around his waist, "think on this more tomorrow?"

"I think it _is_ tomorrow-"

He's silenced by the press of lips against his own, briefly, before the rush of a huff of breath smooths across him like a ghost. It's then gone again, and Lance is rolling his eyes.

"Shh, Angel, no one cares."

Lance tastes like Tesco value vodka and morning breath and coffee, and it's perfect.

* * *

The next few days pass in a blur of perfecting body swaps and mannerisms and vocal patterns.

Shiro discovers that Lance's lanky-ass demon body seems to move on muscle memory, dragging him into the familiar confident jaunt before he can even think about it. The smirk and the sass seems to come later, but he's pretty sure he's getting the hang of it.

Meanwhile, watching Lance in his body sit straight-backed and drinking tea with his pinky out is quite possibly the funniest thing Shiro has ever seen.

"Hey, stop laughing, Angel," Lance complains, his new clipped tone somehow even more funny, "it's not _my_ fault you sit like the seventeenth century school boy."

"At least I don't suffer your backache," Shiro fires back, looking up from his book in the corner of the somehow restored bookshop, "seriously, you could do with visiting a physiotherapist or something, how do you survive this?"

Lance shrugs, taking another sip of tea. "You think my back's bad, wait 'till you get to Hell."

True to Lance's word, they didn't have to wait long.

Four days after the failed apocalypse, Shiro gets beaten over the head with a crowbar.

Four and a half days after the failed apocalypse, he's sat in quite possibly the grimiest bathtub he's ever seen, flicking holy water at Demons behind a fibreglass screen.

Four and three-quarter days after the failed apocalypse, he's sat on a bench in Berkeley square, finally, _finally_ back to normal. Lance is slouched next to him, as usual, but they're closer now, sides pressed together as Shiro takes in the cool afternoon air around him.

"That wasn't too bad," Lance remarks with a grin, lazily reaching over to fiddle with Shiro's fingertips, "I like to think I scared the shit out of that Lotor bloke - absolute assholes, the lot of them, did you ever realise?"

"Now _I_ could've told you that," Shiro replies with a laugh, "I would've liked to see Lotor's face to be honest, smarmy git could do with being put in his place-"

"Bloody hell, Angel," Lance interrupts, and Shiro glances over to see a look of pleasant disbelief etched into his face, "has Hell corrupted you that much?"

Shiro laughs, rolling his eyes affectionately. "It was quite fun, actually - I asked for a rubber duck and made Allura miracle me a towel."

Even Lance can't withhold a laugh at that, and what starts as a small giggle between them quickly turns into full laughter, until Shiro's chest hurts and he's fairly sure he can see tears peaking out from under Lance's sunglasses. It's not even that funny, but it's something about it, combined with them cheating death against all the odds, that means they can't help but laugh.

"What do you want to do now then?" Lance asks quietly, but it's not a threat, there's no hint of malice in his voice; for once, it's warm, inviting in a way that makes Shiro's chest glow with warmth. He reaches over, slowly, almost so slow that Shiro doesn't notice, and links their hands together, and the rush of contact takes Shiro immediately by surprise.

It's like Hellfire, blazing and consuming and _hot_ , but there's no destruction that follows in it's wake; Shiro half-expects his skin to fizzle and singe away, to fold away from angelic soul in a hiss of ash, but nothing happens. Lance just continues to slot their fingers together, until he can comfortably drum his fingertips on Shiro's knuckles in a rhythm that Shiro doesn't know but commits to memory nonetheless. It's just warm, and comforting, and it's a contact that Shiro didn't quite realise how much he needed.

"Angel?"

"I- I don't know," Shiro stutters out, ripping his vision away from their conjoined hands, "we've got plenty of time to think on it though - it's best not to make any hasty decisions."

He sees Lance nod slowly in the corners of his eye, before he feels the hand around his squeeze gently, once, twice, maybe even three times in support.

"I never thought I'd be agreeing with that line of thought," Lance admits with a laugh, "but fuck it, here we are."

Shiro chuckles quietly at that. "Indeed, it's not like you have to undermine everything I do now."

"Oi," Lance shoots, but there's no bite in his voice, "it also means that you don't have to undo every bit of malice I decide I wanna' put in this godamn country."

With a click of his tongue, Shiro rolls his eyes, but smiles nonetheless. "It just means I'll turn more blind eyes to you getting revenge at corrupt politicians, and that's all."

"So, does that mean I can tempt you to a spot of lunch without you complaining about gluttony again?" Lance asks, and Shiro looks over to see that glorious, enticing smirk that he fell in love with all those years ago.

"Well, that means I'm allowed to say yes without you gloating about your tempting skill," Shiro replies, pushing himself to his feet just in time to see Lance shake his head in disbelief.

Even as they make their way to the mysteriously free table for two at the Ritz, Lance never lets go of his hand.

* * *

"Do you ever think that we did the right thing?"

It's late at night, and Shiro's _tired_ ; at least, his human body is tired, and his racing mind is more than happy to oblige.

"What do you mean, my love?" Shiro asks quietly, rolling over from his position in his nest-like bed to see Lance staring out of the window, almost unseeing in thought.

It's quite an odd sight, but it's one that Shiro is slowly getting used to seeing; Lance, firstly, in loose cotton pyjamas, grey tank top reading 'demon in bed' hanging off his shoulders lamely, a direct contrast to the sharp, smooth figure he's used to seeing on a daily basis. His wings are happily exposed, glamour non-existent in the private space of the bookshop bedroom, and in Shiro's tired stupor, all he wants is to run his fingers through soft black feathers.

Then there's the matter of the lost look on Lance's face, unfocused eyes glazed over and unblinking as he observes the park outside.

"Like, would it have been easier if we had just sat back and let them destroy humanity?" Lance suggests, "if we hadn't gotten too big for our fuckin' boots and decide to ruin everything-"

"Lance, come to bed," Shiro urges, pulling back the duvet in invitation, until _finally_ Lance tears his eyes away from the view, "there's no use thinking of 'what if's - we made our choice, and honestly? I still believe we made the best one."

At this distance, Shiro can see the lack of focus in Lance's eyes, the lack of direction and the _fear-_

"Really?"

"Really," Shiro parrots with a nod as Lance allows himself to relax into the pillows, letting Shiro bundle him into his arms and tuck the duvet around them, "we're here together, aren't we?"

Lance just nods mutely, finally wrapping his arms around Shiro's waist as Shiro presses a kiss to his forehead.

"You said we'd have to deal with eternity," Shiro hears himself continue as Lance attempts to snuggle even closer together, until it's impossible to tell where one body ends and another begins, "and I can't think of anyone I'd rather be spending it with."

"You sop," Lance retaliates with a wet laugh, "anyone would think you're in love with me, Angel, and only She knows what falling in love with a demon would do to you-"

"What happened to 'our side'?" Shiro interrupts, looking down until steely grey meets yellow, "I thought we were living by our own rules now."

Lance chuckles, shifting up the bed slightly until he can bury his face in Shiro's neck. "Of course, our side, how could I forget?"

"We'll talk about this in the morning." Lance doesn't speak up, instead humming his agreement. "But for now? Sleep, my love, you deserve it."

Shiro doesn't let his eyes close until Lance's snores echo around the cosy flat, quiet but just enough to periodically remind Shiro that everything's okay.

And then, finally, Shiro lets himself sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Py's glorious art: https://twitter.com/PyPineapple/status/1143335660381593600?s=09
> 
> Kudos and Comments are very much appreciated, and feel free to DM me to scream about this series with me


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